


A Little Compensation

by rickandmortysincave



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Incest, M/M, One Shot, Porn with Feelings, Secret Santa, Smut, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 06:31:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17319764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rickandmortysincave/pseuds/rickandmortysincave
Summary: When Rick challenges Morty's loyalty, he ends up with more than he bargained for.





	A Little Compensation

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to trash-bag-tater-tots, who received it as a gift for Secret Santa. Thanks for being so awesome and inspiring me to write this fic!

 Morty tries to breathe against the sharp pain in his stomach, the feeling that he’s doing something so effortlessly and unequivocally wrong, but those six little words keep ringing in his ears as he sidles up against Rick and begins to take off his bloodstained clothing, his fingers trembling around the button on his jeans as Rick watches with a cautious interest from beneath him.

_“I don’t think you love me.”_

 Love. What the fuck would Rick even know about love? He’s shut out every person who’s ever cared about him, pushed away the only people who were ever willing to give a shit in a poor attempt to protect himself from any more broken hearts, and look where it’s gotten him. Rick is a selfish, lonely, misguided alcoholic looking for any sort of relief from the pain of existence. So of course it’s only fitting that he drag Morty down with him, doubt him in an attempt to bury him deeper in his web of hurt and manipulation, and Morty is taking the bait faster than he can give it, allowing himself to be destroyed if only to have one person who will be willing to stick by his side and accept him for all of his pitiful differences. In a way, he’s no better than Rick at all. If crippling loneliness is an addiction, then let them share that sickness together.

 “Do you really think this will prove anything?” Rick asks drunkenly, but Morty knows deep down that it’s not really about proof, or isolation, or whatever the chemical compound is that makes people feel love in their hearts and butterflies in their stomach.

 It’s about want, that toxic need that dictates their every move, their unwillingness to better themselves and their lack of empathy for the people around them. It’s about doing every single thing in this universe that they’re not supposed to do, bending all the rules if only to show that things like rules and social constructs are the chains that keep people from reaching that godlike level of selfishness that only he and Rick possess.

 It’s about those things, and yet it’s also about nothing at all. If all he is is an unmemorable blip in the multiverse, a Morty in a sea of Morty’s, then what’s the point of keeping up the false pretenses? If the only things Morty gets out of this life are a quick, angry fuck and a handful of adventures with happy endings, then he can at least say he got more than most.

 “No, Rick,” he sighs, lifting his shirt over his head. “I-I can’t prove anything to you, but…you wasted my time. All those months I put in, all those moments I spent tagging along with you on one errand or another, those nights I picked you up off of the floor when you were blackout drunk and put you in bed because everybody else on this god damn planet w-was smart enough to give up on you...the way I see it, I don’t owe you proof, or-or an explanation, or any of those things. I’ve given you enough of me, and yet I still keep chasing after you, waiting for you to notice how much I care. But you don’t think I love you. S-So all I’m asking for, then…” Morty takes a deep breath and tries to control his anger, but he can’t help saying the next words through gritted teeth. “…is a little compensation.”

 “A-A little compensation? Is that what-what you think you deserve?” Rick sneers. “For what? Following me around with your whiny voice, b-bitching about every little thing under the sun and then fucking everything up by being a-a-a clumsy fucking spaz? Do you want me to-to thank you? Should I give you a fucking award for being the universe’s worst sidekick? Because the last time I checked, y-you haven’t been doing me any god damn favors.”

 “Fine, Rick. You wanna go there? We’ll go there.”

 “Don’t say something you’ll regret,” Rick warns, his stare ice cold.

 “Oh, trust me, this has been a long time coming.”  Morty cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders, his smile sinister and maybe a little bit crazy. “You wanna talk about fucking things up? Which one of us was the-the one who fucked up the replication of human DNA and turned the entire planet into Cronenberg’s? Which one of us started one of the bloodiest and most violent genocides in history by corrupting a hive mind? Which one of us got so-so blackout drunk that they shot their grandson not once, not twice, fuck, not even three times, but _eight_ times in the span of six months? Does that sound like-like something an idiot like me could do, Rick? No, I’d just be the one too busy trying to talk some fucking sense into you with my whiny voice to be able to do all that. So, which one of us is the-the real fuck up? The intelligent seventy-year old alcoholic sleeping rent free at his daughter’s place and ruining innocent lives in his spare time, or his stupid, worthless grandson who just got the award for the universe’s worst sidekick?”

 “Okay,” Rick laughs, hiking down the legs of Morty’s pants. “You want compensation? I’ll give it to you.”

 Morty is smart enough to admit that he’s scared. He hasn’t really had time to think any of this through, if he’s being honest, has just been acting on rage and spite from the moment Rick dared to open his mouth and say something so asinine. There’s no doubt in his mind that Morty is going to get exactly what he wishes; when this is all over, Rick is going to have given away some part of himself to his grandson. The part that worries him is what he’s about to go through before then.

 Morty’s pants hit the ground with an uneventful thud, the denim settling against the booze-covered floor of Rick’s bedroom. He makes a mental note to double the detergent on his next load of laundry and tries not to think too hard about the fact that Rick just took off his underwear and is now pulling him close…

 “You think this is what you want,” he whispers, their lips mere centimeters apart. “But you’re going to regret this just like everything else.”

 “There’s only one thing I regret, and that’s giving my trust and devotion to someone as awful as you.”

 Rick tastes like a booze that no soul could ever find on earth, strong and acidic with a hint of perfume that smells like pomegranate. It makes Morty want to recoil a little bit, but he did ask for this, so he knows that he has to be resilient. It’s not like Rick will give him a choice without berating him for being a pussy or something else along those lines. He slips his tongue into his grandfather’s mouth in an attempt to show some initiative, but Rick takes it as an invitation to begin grabbing Morty wherever his hands may travel, his chest, his stomach, his legs, his ass. He jumps a little when Rick gives it a hard swat, like he’s punishing him for some sort of misdeed. He’s sure if he asked which one it might be that he’d only get a long, harsh list of answers anyways. Better to focus on the actions themselves rather than the reasons behind them before he gives himself a migraine.

 “You’re chicken shit, aren’t you?” Rick teases, teeth nipping at the sensitive spots of his ear. “You’re probably already thinking y-you should’ve just eaten your words.”

 “Y-You’re probably about to think that you should’ve just eaten yours,” Morty says as he yanks Rick’s shirt off and throws it in his face. He lowers himself to his chest before he can defend himself and kisses up and down…Christ, he’s gonna have to block out all of these mental images later. Maybe if he’s lucky he can guilt Rick into wiping away his memory. But for now, he’s going to get what the fuck he’s aiming for, even if it scars him for the rest of his life. Nothing in this moment seems more important to him than taking this one shred of dignity from the old bastard, consequences be damned.

 “Shit, Morty, don’t⸺”

 Morty pulls down Rick’s trousers in three solid attempts, small fingers tugging the fabric down until they’re at his ankles. His legs are thin and muscular, pale thighs peeking from underneath his boxers, and as Morty’s eyes travel up, up, up he can’t help but notice their matching erections, notice how much more exposed he is, and that pisses him off. Unlike his pants, Rick’s underwear slides off easily, and Morty has to hide the blush in his cheeks when he realizes exactly what he’s dealing with. Maybe his eyes were a little bigger than his, well…

 God, he doesn’t even want to think about it.

 “See something you like?” Rick grins, and Morty cringes internally.

 “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says, but his voice is beginning to waver a little.

 “If you back out now, we can pretend it never happened,” Rick offers. Morty glares like looks can kill.

 “In your dreams.”

 Rick shrugs and fumbles behind the cot to retrieve a bottle of lube, his expression indifferent when he pops the cap and pours a generous amount into his hand. “Put up or shut up then.”

 Morty lifts his ass dutifully when Rick reaches around him, fingers teasing at spots that were never meant for him to touch, and Morty has to wonder what the fuck he’s doing for a second. Has he seriously lost his mind? Maybe all those gunshot related comas scrambled his brain, or all the trauma has altered the very fabric of his reality, or, worst of all, this moment is one hundred and ten percent real, and this a conscious decision that he’s making with his very stupid and useless brain.

 He tries not to screw up his face when Rick pushes a finger inside of him, but the old man still laughs, his eyes lit up with the joy of seeing him fail in even the most minute of ways.

 “There’s still time,” he whispers, and Morty decides then that it’s better to kiss him and pretend that it’s someone else, rather than listen to Rick taunt him so cruelly when this is supposed to be _his_ punishment. How can Morty make him atone for his sins if he refuses to take him seriously?

 The only short term answer he has is almost a surefire way to traumatize himself, but there’s something about this awful, powerful being that began living inside him when Rick moved in that gives him the world’s worst competitive streak. The only thing that makes dealing with it that much worse is that Rick usually seems to be the catalyst to the destruction before it starts. He can’t count on both hands how many times it’s gotten so out of hand that it’s almost killed someone. Unfortunately, he can count on both hands how many times it has.

 “Deeper, Grandpa,” he groans, pushing himself back on the intrusion, trying to remind himself to breathe deep and relax and ignore all of the terrible and sickening shit that’s probably about to come out of his mouth in the spirit of malevolence. “I-I wanna feel you inside me.”

 “Yeah, Morty, y-you want it deeper?” Rick challenges. Morty may be smarter than he gives him credit for, but two can play at that game. He pushes his finger up to the knuckle and revels at how tight he is. God, why is he reveling in that? Maybe he really is this fucked up. At least he can’t say he’s surprised.

 “Fuck,” Morty moans, sinking his teeth deep into Rick’s shoulder to ease some of his pain.

 Rick chokes on an inhale and grabs one of Morty’s ass cheeks as tight as his hand will allow. No doubt that that’s gonna leave some bruises; as if Rick was going to be the only one to walk away with marks. “You want more?” He asks, the words tickling the skin on Morty’s throat.

 “Please,” Morty begs, and as Rick drives his finger in deeper, he has to consider whether or not that’s the actual truth.

 “I couldn’t hear you. Tell Grandpa what you want, baby.”

 “I want more,” Morty whines, unwilling to admit just how serious he’s becoming. He chants Rick’s mantra in his head as another finger plunges inside of him and curls upwards, completely undoing any will he once had to stop all of this madness. _‘Don’t think about it. Don’t think about. Don’t think about…’_

 “God, Morty, you’re so tight. I-I-I don’t think I’m gonna be able to fit,” Rick grunts, but Morty has resorted to little more than rocking back and forth like a regular whore, delirious with the pain and pleasure of it all. “What’s wrong?” He chuckles, and Morty wishes that he could gain his bearings fast enough to wipe that smarmy look off of Rick’s face. Fuck it, he might as well pull out all the stops.

 “P-Put it in me, I-I-I can handle it,” he promises sloppily, sweat rolling down his brow. Shit, Rick has never been able to say no to a pretty face, blood-related or not.

 “Touch me, then,” Rick dares, thinking that might perturb him, but Morty immediately does as he’s told, tightening his grip around Rick’s shaft like a pro. At least all that time masturbating ended up amounting to something.

 Morty presses his thumb to the slit of Rick’s cock, rubbing his head slowly, over and over until he realizes what he’s doing and then discovers that realizing alone isn’t enough to stop him. He strokes Rick off like his life depends on it, puts everything he has into it until Rick is forced to stop him before he blows his load prematurely.

 “You sure about this?” He asks. Morty nods profusely like he has a fucking idea what that really entails, but Rick no longer knows or cares enough about responsibility to keep either of them from reaching the point of no return. He slathers another glob of lube around Morty’s entrance and lines himself up, pressing forward just a little to gauge his grandson’s reaction, but Morty doesn’t budge, in fact, he looks so adorable that it’s kind of irritating, so Rick keeps going and Morty keeps taking it until he’s completely seated and starry-eyed, his spine arched in agony.

 “Ah-ah, Rick, I-I can’t⸺”

 “What a shame,” Rick sighs, thrusting his hips a little. “I was under the impression that you most certainly could.”

 Ah, yes. The catalyst arrives.

 “You shitty old pervert,” Morty hisses, ignoring the pain in his ass as he lifts himself a little only to careen back down, Rick’s sharp hipbones digging into his skinny thighs. “I-I should’ve just-just killed you all of those times I had the chance.”

 “Then why didn’t you?” Rick smiles, squeezing one of the rosy nipples on Morty’s chest. “It’s because you’re a-a coward.”

 “Isn’t that the same reason you came back here after you broke out of the-ahh-the Galactic Federation Prison?” Morty argues. “Haah, or-or that time you saved me from being kidnapped by another Rick, or when you told me that if I left you, you would hurt yourself? Didn’t you do all of those…oh, god,” he whimpers, thighs shaking with the effort of taking Rick’s length. “…those things because you’re a-a coward who can’t admit that I’m the only person they can’t let go?”

 “Shut up,” Rick warns, thrusting a little harder, holding Morty down by the wrists so that he can’t escape no matter how hard he tries.

 “Admit it,” Morty demands, taking practiced breaths, but Rick only gets more aggressive and desperate, using Morty as an outlet just as Morty is using him, and the two stay trapped in that cycle until Morty begins to shout and Rick has to cover his mouth to keep him from blowing their cover, pressing his face into his hardened chest and fucking him sweet and dirty like only someone as experienced as Rick knows how.

 “I-I’ll never admit shit to you,” Rick grunts, but then Morty starts kissing him, turning him into putty in his delicate little hands, whispering to him again and again the only truth that Morty has ever known, even if it’s one that his grandfather can never accept.

 “I love you, Rick,” he cries, feeling filled to the brim and vulnerable and needy. In this moment all he wants is for Rick to give him exactly what he’s giving him, this physical affirmation that Morty has some sort of sway over him that no one else possesses. He entwines their hands between their chests as Rick picks up the pace even faster, mumbling sweet nothings that he never meant to say until Morty comes apart beautifully, legs braced around Rick’s thighs as he reaches orgasm, thick, pitiful globs of cum painting his stomach, and yet Rick finds himself mesmerized, almost starstruck as he watches the display. Something about it tips him over the edge, he keeps going until he can’t go anymore, feeling just how tight Morty is around him, and he can’t deny that he’s not regretting this as much as he thought he would. Especially when, as Morty begins to settle, his face becomes tired and lusty, looking up at Rick like he’s the only man in the world.

 If any thing appeals to Rick’s dick, it’s someone who boosts his ego. He pushes himself into Morty as far as he can go, pace becoming erratic, and then he gives Morty exactly what he wants, cums inside his grandson and then immediately realizes what a huge mistake he’s made, just how vulnerable he’s allowed himself to become in the face of temptation.

 He pulls out as quickly as he can without hurting Morty’s pride and lays him down beside him on the cot, trying and failing miserably to control the breath in his lungs that he sometimes wishes would just stop completely.

 “How’s that for compensation?” He asks in hopes of lightening the mood, but it feels like there are shards in his stomach when Morty murmurs contentedly and nuzzles his head into Rick’s side.

 “Rick,” Morty sighs, rubbing the tense muscles in his arms. “You’re forgetting the cardinal rule.”

 The cardinal rule? Hadn’t they already broken all of the cardinal rules? They’d robbed, killed, coveted, fucked. What other rule could there possibly be out there that they had yet to shit all over with their selfish sense of morals?

 Morty smiles victoriously and lifts his head for just a moment, face all ‘cat who got the canary’. Rick has a feeling that’s he not going to be able to handle whatever comes out of his mouth next, something hurtful or smug or…

 “Don’t think about it.”

 Unsurprisingly, those are the four words that Rick knows will haunt him for the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Check out of my other works if you like what you see, and check out my Twitter if you want to see my slow spiral into hell: @rickmortysin


End file.
